


The Curious Case of the Hair

by annamatopia



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Crack, Drabbles, Gen, Hair, burning stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annamatopia/pseuds/annamatopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>we are gathered here today--</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of the Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my RDJ!Holmes movie marathon and the following prompts:
> 
> "We are gathered here today to discuss your excessive use of ________."
> 
> "The customer is here. He is displeased with his lack of ________."

part I  
  
"We are gathered here today to talk about your excessive use of wigs."  
  
"I assure you I have perfectly legitimate reasons--"  
  
"As I am well-acquainted with your reasoning, I have no doubt that you do. Holmes, there is hair /everywhere./ I do not think I have taken a step today wherein hair has not thoroughly tangled itself betwixt my socks and the floor, or gotten stuck in my shoe when I attempted to avoid it entirely."  
  
"My apologies, Watson. By all means, please remove my means of occupation for the comfort of your feet."  
  
  
part II  
  
Upon reflection, I do believe I should have anticipated my dear friend's reaction to the destruction of a fair number of his costume props. I thought him to become exceedingly angry, perhaps insist that I replace them, or, most likely, not notice at all until next he needed them. He was, in fact, quite perplexed, and did not blame me until he fully turned his gaze on me and deduced my afternoon's activities from a speck of soot on my sleeve and the scent of burnt hair clinging to my coat. The ensuing sulk developed into the first ordeal of the week.  
  
The second ordeal began upon my entrance to our flat several days later, stomping my feet on the rug by the door to rid my boots of the mud from the day's travels. Holmes was sprawled upon the sofa in his favorite dressing gown surrounded by a massive pile of papers. He didn't bother to look up as I came in; rather, he scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "The Consulting Detective In Need Of Disguises is here today. He is displeased with his lack of wigs." The emphasis was heavily implied.  
  
I threw my hands up. "My god, are you still stuck on that? I told you it was an accident!"  
  
"I fail to see how every wig in the living room spontaneously catching fire whilst I was out is any sort of accident at all," Holmes said, his tone rimmed with great reproach.  
  
"Then you should not have left them in the living room, a common space in which your wigs have no business being," I said. I felt coming on the familiar exasperation with my roommate, ordinarily reserved for the screeching of the violin at four in the morning or the bullet holes in the ceiling plaster.  
  
Holmes finally pulled himself upright and I was treated to the full strength of his glower. "My dear fellow, those wigs are absolutely essential to my line of work."  
  
I must confess, dear reader, that I was beginning to feel some modicum of remorse for my actions, but rather promptly I remembered many futile attempts to unthread half a head's worth of hair from my socks and resolved to find myself blameless in the event that Holmes should choose to brood in hopes of an apology, as he is wont to do.


End file.
